


cigarettes and chocolate milk

by recklessfishes (orphan_account)



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/F, also i really want girl punk rock bands in my life? hmu if you know any, also it's cliche and dumb? who knows my guy, everyone's a girl and also a lesbian sorry i don't make the rules, this is a totally self-gratuitous au enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/recklessfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The media really loves playing the “Who’s in Pietra Wentz’s pants?” game, and Pete wants them all to leave her the fuck alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> uh yeah so have the lesbian au nobody wanted, written by me, a lesbian.

Gee gets the call at ten thirty on a Saturday night, and she immediately regrets picking up the phone. Because on the other line is Pietra Wentz, and Pete’s pissed.

 

“So,” Pete huffs. “Apparently Frankie and I are fucking? Or dating, at least. Have you seen the headlines?”

 

Gee has not, in fact, seen the headlines. Gee would rather Pete Wentz left her the fuck alone so she could concentrate on something other than fraught relationships. Still, despite her better judgement, she opens up a web browser and Googles “ _pietra wentz frances iero rumors_.” Immediately, the screen fills with four hundred different theories on their assumed relationship. Gee sighs. Fucking media.

 

“Found ‘em.” The headlines are all ridiculous, based around some hug Pete gave Frankie that happened to get caught by a wayward photographer.

 

Pete sighs the sigh of a long-suffering woman. “Isn’t it such bullshit? Like, when have Frankie and I ever interacted intimately? I mean, I gave her a hug last week, but if that means we’re fucking Trick and I would be engaged by now.”

 

Gee snorts. “Fucking right. Uh, by the way, Frankie and I may have accidentally cheated on you last night, so I hope you aren’t really fucking her.” That’s a lie, actually. Gee’s pretty sure Frankie hooked up with _someone_ last night, but it sure as fuck wasn’t her. Unfortunately. She takes ten seconds to feel shitty about it, then pushes her emotions to the back of her mind.

 

Pete laughs, an inelegant conglomeration of snorts and chuckles, and Gee resists the temptation to join in. “Speaking of Trick, though, why the hell isn’t the media assuming you two are hooking up? God knows everyone in My Chem is.”

 

There’s a silence. “Trick keeps saying she’s straight, man. ‘FYI I like dick’ and all that. So. That’s why.” Pete’s apparently resigned herself to the straight girl crush.

 

Gee hums in sympathy. “Well, at least you can get close to her on stage, right?”

 

“Fuck that. I want real-life closeness, too. Like, cuddles and shit.” Something scrapes on the other end of the line, and Gee just knows Pete’s pacing the floor, running her hands through her cropped hair. “This bus is too damned cramped, man. Wanna get coffee when we hit Chicago?”

 

My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy are running separate tours, but they have a night in Chicago that miraculously overlaps. Original joint show plans had fallen through, but Gee’s still looking forward to seeing the Fall Out girls there. Even if she and Trick won’t get to sing together on stage. Melancholically, Gee stares down into her half-cold coffee remnants, then realizes she hasn’t answered Pete’s question.

 

“Sure, Wentz. Let’s get coffee.”

 

+

 

Pete doesn’t actually drink coffee. Like, at all. She’s already energetic enough without a shot of caffeine to her stomach. Still, it’s one of the only ways she can think to bribe Gee into giving her relationship advice. The extra pre-show energy is almost worth it.

 

The table she’s sitting in is outside, much to her chagrin. Pete had really wanted a table inside, but the coffee shop was full to bursting despite the early hour. At least the wind feels nice against her face.

 

She jogs her leg up and down below the table, hoping Gee will show up soon. A flock of fans could descend at any moment, plucking and pecking at her, and Pete’s really, really not in the mood. She pulls out her phone and texts Trick as a distraction.

 

_trick wish u were here :(_

 

The text back isn’t instantaneous, but it’s pretty damn close.

 

**You told me not to come with you?? Stop changing your mind every half hour, it’s giving me the jitters.**

 

_...who the fuck says jitters_

 

 **Me, asshole. Jitters is a perfectly acceptable word, thank you very much. It’s sophisticated, or something.** The text might as well have been accompanied by a glare. Pete can imagine Trick’s nose scrunched up and her eyes squinty. It’s fucking adorable.

 

_okay, mom._

 

**Stay in school, honey.**

 

Pete actually snorts out loud, causing a miniscule old lady two tables over to frown disapprovingly at her. Sheepishly, Pete tucks her phone away and looks up to see Gee Way slipping into the seat across from her.

 

“This is gonna send the tabloids into a frenzy,” Gee informs her, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “So don’t call me when it happens.”

 

“I always knew we were secretly fucking,” Pete responds drily. “It’s no big deal.”

 

Gee smirks. “Fair enough.” She lights up, then offers one to Pete, who declines. Shrugging, Gee stuffs the pack back into her jacket pocket. She absently pulls at a strand of hair, smoke curling off the tip of her cigarette.

 

“You look hot,” Pete blurts.

 

Gee shrugs. “Thanks, man. I have a date with a shitty hotel bed later.”

 

“And Frankie, huh?”

 

The waiter saves Gee from having to continue that line of conversation, unfortunately. The guy doesn’t seem to recognize either of them, which is a relief. Gee orders her coffee black and Pete does the same, secretly planning to add about eighty cups of sugar to it later.

 

They talk about basic tour things until the coffee comes, at which point Gee takes a swig and asks, “What’s up?”  


“Stop me if you’ve heard this before, but what the fuck does one do with unrequited love?” Pete gulps at her coffee, then regrets it as the liquid scalds her throat. Thank god she isn’t the lead singer.

 

Sighing, Gee takes another drag of her cigarette. “Fuck if I know, man. Girls are hard to talk to.” The smoke swirls up into the air, painting fake pictures in the air. “Is this about Trick?”

 

Pete groans. “Of course it’s about fucking Trick.” She flops backward into her chair dramatically. “Kill me. Unrequited love sucks.”

 

“No shit. Can’t really help you there, though, Pete. I’ve got the same damn problem.”

 

Pete’s eyes widen just a bit. “You and Frankie aren’t together? But I thought-”

 

“Nope,” Gee mutters, cutting her off. “We’ve never been together, actually. Which is a fucking crime, but what can you do, right?” Gee’s cigarette takes a plunge into her coffee cup, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ve tried to think of ways to get her to like me more, but none of them have worked.”

 

“I feel your fucking pain, man. I wish I could just talk to her like a normal person, you know?”

 

Gee nods, then tries to take a sip of the nicotine-poisoned coffee and spits it out. “That would be ideal, yeah.”

 

“I’m gonna do it,” Pete decides. “I’m gonna talk to her.”

 

“Good fucking luck,” Gee scoffs.

 

+

 

The Fall Out Boy show is fucking amazing that night, as always. Pete plays with an energy she’s never felt before, throwing herself all over Trick, who just grins wildly and keeps onsinging.

 

She feels daring tonight, as if a bucketload of courage had been dumped into her veins along with the caffeine. As her fingers dance over the strings, Pete leans over and whispers into Trick’s ear.

 

“So, Trick. Ever thought about me?” The words just slip out in the heat of the moment, unannounced.

 

Trick sends her an odd look, blonde hair mussed and messy. She keeps belting out the words, though, so Pete continues.

 

“I’ve thought about you. You’re really hot when you’re singing, you know that?”

 

This time, Trick frowns, but Pete can see a slight flush creeping up her cheeks.

 

“I kind of want to sleep with you after our shows. Also, Gee says hi,” she yells, and recedes back into her own personal space. She doesn’t look up for several more seconds, but amidst the sweat and haze and lights she catches Trick’s flustered glare and winks at her.

 

Trick confronts her about it later, of course. As soon as Jo and Andi have started moving their gear offstage, she jabs a finger into Pete’s stomach and pushes her to a quiet corner of the stage. “What the _fuck_ , Pete? Did you and Gee do drugs before the show or some shit?”

 

Pete just gives her the blankest look she can muster. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, dude.”

 

Throwing her hands up into the air in frustration, Trick tries again. “What you said in my ear during the show?”

 

“All I said was ‘Gee says hi’ and ‘the stage is hot,’ dude. I don’t know what you heard, man, but that’s all I said. Honest.”

 

Trick doesn’t buy it, Pete can tell, but she shrugs her perfect shoulders and backs down. “If you say so.”

 

Pete texts Gee as soon as Trick gets far enough away.

 

_have u tried announcing ur feelings on stage? it works._

 

I’m the lead singer, idiot. so, no.

 

+

 

After the emotional high dies down, Pete spends the night feeling incredibly shity about her life choices. Who the fuck confesses love to their best friend on stage and then backs away from it? She’s pretty sure that’s a form of gaslighting, or something. Fuck. Romance always ends up screwing her over, so she isn’t sure why she’s surprised by this turn of events.

 

The internet fails to improve her mood. As soon as she opens a web browser, she’s hit with pictures of her and Gee sitting at the coffee shop. Photos that could’ve only been taken by their waiter, who’d apparently recognized them after all. The headlines are screaming bloody murder about it. “Pietra Wentz, Gee Way A Couple?”; “Punk Rock Coffee Date”; “‘My Chemical Romance’ Singer Finds Romance.”

 

The media really loves playing the “Who’s in Pietra Wentz’s pants?” game, and Pete wants them all to leave her the fuck alone. Gee seems to feel the same way, because Pete’s phone jolts awake with a text from her not five minutes later.

 

you’ve seen the headlines, right…

 

_yep. fucking stupid arent they_

 

y’know. I’ve heard fake dating does wonders for jealousy.

 

_no offense g but im not into you romantically_

 

ME NEITHER JESUS EW

 

_harsh, Way._

 

what i’m saying is we should try to make them jealous

 

_bad plan, g. what if they think it’s real? tht wld kind of undermine my goal so no._

 

fine. but you should think on it.

 

Pete shuts off her phone with an aggrieved sigh. She’s pretty sure Gee’s just desperate, and that this plan will never work. Still, somewhere in her mind, she thinks it might be a good idea. Pete passes out with a half formed idea in her mind, and by the time she wakes up again it’s settled.

  
_g? I think u might b on to smthn_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't sleep together, because that would be fucking stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this chapter should be called "lesbians in bed with romantic anxiety." it also went in a completely different direction than I was expecting, but hopefully you guys'll enjoy it!! thanks for all the comments/kudos, they made me v happy.

They don't sleep together, because that would be fucking stupid. They also don't start fake dating, much to Pete's protests. Instead, Gee decides they're going to make Frankie and Trick jealous.

 

“How?” Pete asks, for the millionth time. She’s camped out in the back of My Chem’s tour bus, her legs kicked up onto Gee’s lap. Gee, meanwhile, types viciously on a laptop, attempting to formulate a plan.   
  


Finally, after several moments of frantic typing, Gee runs a hand through her tangled hair in resignation.“I was thinking the classic ‘date every roadie possible to piss them off’ scheme, but I’m not sure how well that would work. So. Got any better ideas?” 

 

Pete shrugs, letting her hair fall into her eyes. “Not really. Roadies are a good idea, I guess, though there’s only so many of them to go around. And, no. No fans.”

 

“God, no.” Gee cringes. “I’d rather not manipulate my fanbase, thanks. That’d be fucked up.” She contemplatively taps the spacebar on her keyboard. “So, you need someone close who isn’t me.”

 

Contemplatively, Pete suggests, “Mikey?” Mikaela Way would be open to the idea, probably- she’s open to pretty much anything. Gee looks alarmed.

 

“You’ll fuck her over. I know you too well, Pete. You’ll either fall for her or break her heart, and I really don’t feel like letting my little sister become fodder for a Fall Out Boy album.” Pete pouts, but lets the idea drop.

 

Soon after, with no further inspiration, the two part ways. Pete waves solemnly to Gee as she walks past their bus and over to her own. It’s weird to be leaving Gee so soon, even after only having seen her for a day or two. Leaving people is not a thing Pete Wentz likes.

 

Everybody’s asleep by the time she sneaks onto the bus. On one side of the bus, Jo’s got her hair piled in her face again and is snoring lightly. Above her, Andi looks as stoic as ever, sleep softening her features just slightly. Pete directs her attention over to the other bunk, where Trick lies with her mouth half open, blonde hair splayed across her pillow. She looks so soft and vulnerable, barely lit by the streetlight seeping into the bus, and Pete has the sudden urge to sneak in next to her, to snuggle close and kiss her awake. As if hearing her thoughts, Trick stirs, and Pete decides that maybe she’s better off sleeping in her own bunk tonight. No need to embarrass herself just yet.

 

+

 

Gee wakes in the middle of the night to somebody crawling into her bunk. She bites back any sudden reactions and instead tries to make out who the person might be. It isn’t as if this hasn’t happened before; she’s dealt with Rey’s drunk stumbling and Mikey’s late-night problems before. But this time it’s Frankie, her hair artfully falling all over the place as she clambers into a comfortable spot. Gee is suddenly squished up against Frankie and the side of the bunk. Her heart, naturally, begins to pound at nine thousand miles per hour. Steadfastly ignoring it, she instead taps Frankie on her cold, leather-clad shoulder. “Frankie? You okay?”

 

Frankie just huffs and snuggles closer. She smells like stale cigarette smoke and shitty beer. It’s actually kind of hot. Within seconds she’s passed out, breath ghosting over Gee’s face.

 

Gee sighs. “Christ. You’re probably sloshed. Just don’t puke on me in the morning, ‘kay?” Vague assenting noises come from Frankie’s mouth. Gee simply shrugs and attempts to sleep.

 

+

 

Gee awakens sometime in the early morning and immediately thanks any deity out there that she doesn’t have a penis. Because she knows that if she did, she’d be really fucking hard right now. Frankie’s plastered up against her, all loose limbs and fucking attractiveness, and if Gee doesn’t get some fucking space right now immediately she’ll go insane. Or attempt to jack off with Frankie still in the bed, which would be really fucked up, even for her. 

 

Despite all this, however, she doesn’t want to wake Frankie from what looks like a very calm dream. She’s got a tiny smile on her face, and Gee has to resist the urge to kiss the lifted corner of Frankie’s mouth. She lies back, trying to think about anything other than the fact that her best friend is practically on top of her, breasts resting against her chest. Fuck. Gee really doesn’t want to be creepy about it.

 

Her phone is barely within reach, but she manages to snag it and text Pete. If anyone would enjoy this dramatic turn of events, it’d be Wentz. Her phone screen barely reads four am, and Gee silently groans in frustration. That means hours more of awkward cuddling and things she can’t have. 

 

wentz frankie is literally on top of me at the moment

 

help. what do i do.

 

She doesn’t expect Pete to answer for at least another hour, but her phone buzzes almost immediately. 

 

_ um g if this is a sex thing leave me out of it google exists 4 a reason _

 

_ congrats tho?? get a piece of that ass ;) don’t wake anyone up _

 

damn it pete it isn’t like that. She climbed into my bunk PLATONICALLY last night & is currently passed out on top of me. also why the fuck are you up isn’t it Pete Wentz policy to sleep until noon?

  
  


_ yeah, cldnt sleep. insomnia. u know how it is.  _

 

_ good luck fucker _

 

just for the record, pete: i hate you

 

_ ik man ;) it fuels our hate sex _

 

+

 

Pete hadn’t been lying about being unable to sleep. She’s been up all night, writing shitty stream-of-consciousness lyrics and attempting not to notice Trick’s presence in the bunk below her. She stares at her half-full Word document in annoyance and exhaustion. She needs some sort of catharsis, and soon. Being in love with your best friend really fucking sucks.

 

_ tell everyone im jealous of your new fling hell id gladly pay the price if it meant youd just let me in for once (i just want you more than him),  _ she types, then narrowly avoids deleting it in frustration. Nothing’s coming out right this morning.

 

Below her, Trick shifts, then groans and sits up. Pete quickly slams her laptop shut, but the brief illumination is enough to let Trick know she’s awake.

 

“Pete? You okay?” Her voice rings out softly in the darkened room. Pete flops backwards so she’s lying down and stares up at the ceiling.

 

“Yeah, Trick. I’m good. Go back to sleep.”

 

Trick probably shakes her head in response, or something, because next thing Pete knows she’s clambering into Pete’s bunk with her. “No, you sound upset. What’s up?”

 

Trick has a truly epic case of bedhead, and her tiny, chubby legs poke out from beneath her oversized hoodie. She’s wearing mismatched socks and smells kind of like sleep and vodka, even though she didn’t drink last night. Pete sighs and scoots over.

 

“Nothing’s up,” she replies petulantly. 

 

“Okay,” Trick says, “I know that’s bullshit. You’re never up at four unless you’re feeling shitty.” She notices Pete’s laptop, then, tucked away between their feet. “Can I look at whatever you were working on?”

 

Pete nods, then immediately regrets her decision. She’s too late, though: Trick’s already squinting at the words on the dim screen. A look of surprise crosses her face, then one of understanding.

 

“Oh, Pete,” she murmurs. “Who is it? Is it Gee?”

 

“What? No, Jesus!” Trick doesn’t seem to believe her, though, judging by the look in her eyes. Pete wants to take her by the shoulders and scream,  _ hey, it’s you, idiot, _ but that’s not an incredibly effective way to keep friends. So she stays silent.

 

Trick presses a few keys on the keyboard, then closes it. “Okay, so, whoever it is. Just tell them. They’d probably be flattered. And you might have a chance, you never know.”

 

_ Yeah, right. _ Pete thinks. _ I won’t have a chance if you’re straight, which you are. _

 

“Okay,” she says out loud, and Trick yawns a record-breaking yawn.

 

“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean it like that. I’m just fucking tired, man.” She yawns again. “Mind if I go crash again? We can talk about this more when I’m sentient, if you want.”

 

“Sure,” Pete replies, having no intention of ever continuing this conversation ever again. 

 

Trick nods sleepily. “Okay.” She leans over and gives Pete a quick kiss on the cheek, then clambers down into her own bunk. Pete thanks every god that it’s dark in the room, though her blushing probably glows in the dark. She pops her headphones in once Trick’s dozed off again and tries to get some shut-eye

 

Hours later, as dawn silently breaks outside, Pete opens her computer again. Just below her last line of text are three small words.

 

_ Is it me? _

 

+

 

The second time Gee wakes up that morning, it’s to Frankie’s giant grin.

 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Gee! Fuck, man, you sleep like the dead. It’s no wonder you need like eight cups of coffee to function in the morning,” she smirks, laughing at the shock on Gee’s face. “Christ, it’s like you’ve never seen me before.”

Shaking her head rapidly, Gee clears the rest of her dreams from her head. For a moment there, she’d been reasonably certain Frankie was about to kiss her.  _ Get ahold of yourself, Gee, _ she thinks viciously.

 

“Sorry. Still asleep, I guess.”

 

“I fucking know, dude. Now come on, I made you coffee.” Frankie leaves Gee’s personal space as quickly as she’d entered. The bed seems oddly empty now.

 

Sighing, Gee runs a hand through her hair in an attempt to fix it. She still has no idea how she’s going to make Frankie jealous, or even how she’s going to get Frankie to notice her in the first place.  _ Romance, _ she thinks to herself,  _ is fucking hard. _

 

Distraction comes in the form of a buzzing cellphone. Gee lazily glances at the screen and is rewarded by a single text from Pete.

 

_ holy fuck we may have a situation _

  
Gee ignores it and leaves her phone lying on the bed. Pete Wentz’s dramatics can wait until after coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update! senior year is actually hell incarnate and i've been dealing with 89264918 breakdowns a day as a result. (i have an AP Lit essay due on monday.... time to die.) anyway! hopefully you enjoy this, and I'll try to update again soon.

Except, apparently, they can’t, because Pete tries to call Gee about eighty times in the six minutes it takes her to drink half the coffeepot. Marginally more awake than previously, she cradles her next mug of coffee in one hand and her scratched-up cellphone in the other, debating whether or not to call Pete back. Her phone screen bursts into life along with Pete’s self-proclaimed theme song.

  
“Just leave it,” comes Frankie’s voice from the next room. “If it’s Pete Wentz this early in the morning, it can probably wait. She’s most likely just calling to complain about how everyone on her tour bus smells like stale alcohol.”

 

Mikey lets out a snort from the bunk across from Gee. “Or she’s calling to talk about how the sun shines out of Trick’s asshole. It’s one of the two. Always is, with Pete.”

 

Gee grimaces at the description. “Jesus, Mikes. I didn’t need to think about Stump’s ass this early in the morning. Christ.”

 

“It’s like ten am,” Mikey argues, but she doesn’t seem too invested in defending her point any further. Instead, she pulls out her phone and soon becomes transfixed by the screen.

  
The phone stops ringing, then immediately starts up again. Rolling her eyes, Gee picks up the phone. “What’s up, loser?”

 

“Gee! Finally, dude, I’ve been calling you for the last hour. We have a situation.” Pete sounds relieved and also really fucking wired. Gee sighs.

 

“Okay, just calm down. What’s the situation?”

 

Assorted shuffling noises sound from the other end of the line, closely followed by the sound of something slamming. “Cool,” Pete says. “I’m hiding in the bathroom so she can’t hear me. I think Trick suspects something, man.”

 

It takes all of Gee’s very limited amount of energy not to hang up on Pete. “Isn’t that the point?”

 

“Yeah, but now it’s fucking stressful. Like I’ve got expectations to live up to and shit. I’ve gotta be the romantic lead and I am really not prepared for that.”

 

“Wentz, you write poetry. You are totally prepared to be the romantic lead. Just, like, write a cute poem and shove it at her.” Gee stares mournfully at her quickly-cooling coffee and wonders at what point in her life she agreed to be Pete Wentz’s therapist.

 

Pete sighs dramatically. “You know I only work in angst.”

 

Before Gee can formulate a proper response to this, there’s a loud rapping noise on Pete’s end. She can distinctly make out Jo’s voice, yelling something along the lines of, “How big of a shit are you taking, Wentz?” before she’s unceremoniously hung up on.

 

Gee shakes her head and takes a gulp of her stone cold coffee. She isn’t awake enough for this in the slightest.

 

+

 

Unfortunately, today is a driving day for Fall Out Boy, which means Pete’s stuck with a semi-suspicious Trick in an enclosed space for at least twenty four hours. Judging how her usual attempts at romance go, this is going to be a very long bus ride. She goes and sits up front with her laptop, intent on distracting herself. She sets up her laptop and plugs in her headphones. Before she can lose herself in the show’s plot, however, Jo plops down in the seat adjacent to her.

 

“Andi won’t let me smoke pot on the bus,” she complains, twisting a strand of springy brown hair around her finger. “She says it’ll mess with her straightedge ways.”

 

Pete snorts. “She isn’t wrong, you know. Besides, there’s like no ventilation on this bus. We don’t want the driver to be high while driving.”

 

Jo pouts. “Since when are you responsible? I went to Trick and she said the same thing, I thought you’d be up to try it at least.”

 

Logically, Pete knows Jo’s just fucking around with her, playing the pothead for laughs, but she’s really not in the mood. “Well, I’m not. And I’m kind of busy.” She gestures toward her laptop, which is unhelpfully displaying a picture from a lesbian vampire webseries she’s been watching. 

 

“Right, because your love for [Carmilla](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4QzRfvkJZ4) __ is more important than my pot cravings.” Jo crosses her arms in mock annoyance and stares Pete down. “Just ask her out already if you love her so much.”

 

Despite the fact that Jo’s response is stupid as hell, Pete can’t help but respond. “You know Trick owns my heart, Jo. I can’t just abandon her like that.”

 

“Abandon who like what?” Trick asks, walking into the front of the bus. 

 

“Nobody,” Pere blurts, suspicious and too quickly. 

 

Jo stretches her arms out wide and proclaims, “Pete’s got a heart boner for you, Trick.”

 

Trick looks alarmed, to say the least. “A what?”

 

“A heart boner. Like a crush but more constant and aching.”

 

Pete’s not entirely sure how this conversation is gonna finish, but she can already tell Trick won’t like it. “Stop mocking me, Jo. My undying love for Patricia Stump is the only real thing in this world.” She tries to make her tone overly dramatic so Trick won’t suspect anything. 

 

Like a fucking moth to a flame, Andi pops up out of nowhere. Well, out of the seat a few rows back where she’s apparently been watching a movie, unbeknownst to anyone else. “Dude, we fucking know. It's all you ever talk about.”

 

Trick’s turned an awkward shade of red. “Christ, Pete!” she exclaims. Before Pete can figure out what the fuck she’s done now, Trick’s already left for the bunks.

 

“Well,” Andi remarks, “that was weird. At least you can commiserate with Carm there.” She gestures at Pete’s laptop, where the aforementioned vampire is looking royally pissed off, and the bassist groans. 

 

“I’m guessing that means stay out of Trick’s hair?”

 

Both Andi and Jo nod simultaneously. 

 

+

 

Frankie taps Gee on the shoulder as she attempts to open up GarageBand for the millionth time, her slow computer fighting her at every step. The bus has been driving down the same boring stretch of road for four hours, and Gee’s finally resorted to entertaining herself. “Yo, we’re almost to our stop. And we get a fucking hotel tonight, how great is that?”

 

It’s awesome, to say the least. Gee can sleep anywhere, but shitty bus bunk beds aren't her locale of choice. “Oh man, I forgot about that. Shit, that's great.”

 

“Know what else is great?” Frankie asks. She’s got a look on her face that screams mischief. 

 

“Nope.”

 

“Your ass in those jeans.” 

 

Gee tries not to blush. Really, she does. If Mikey can pull off stoicness and a lack of emotional response to anything, she totally can too. Except her face is heating up a bit more than usual, and there’s only one explanation for that. 

 

Frankie laughs delightedly. “Dude, are you blushing?”

Gee hastily coughs into her elbow. “Fuck, no. Guess I must be getting sick. Hopefully I’ll be better before the show tonight.” She coughs again, trying to make it sound as chunky as possible.

 

Frankie’s nose scrunches up. “Ew. Do you want me to get you anything to drink? I can dip into Rey’s tea reserves if that’ll help.”

 

It’s not like Frankie’s actually gonna make her tea, so Gee accepts the offer. Frankie gives her a brilliant smile just as GarageBand finally fucking opens.

 

“Ah, shit, you’re busy. I’ll come back later, huh?” Without waiting for an affirmative, Frankie darts off.

 

Turning back to the task at hand, Gee pretends she hadn’t wanted Frankie to stick around. By the time she looks up from her screen again, there’s a cup of tea precariously balanced by her side.

 

+

 

Their tour bus finally has to stop to fill up sometime in the middle of the night, and Pete begs her way off the bus. She’s getting restless- she was never one for long road trips, not even when they all rode around in Joe’s shitty fucked up van, and her brain’s screaming at her to  _ get out, move around a little. _ That, and Trick’s been avoiding her all day, and it’s freaking her the fuck out.

 

It’s just another rest stop, another faded city sidewalk, nothing overwhelmingly special. America’s scenery begins to blend together somewhere past Ohio, and every neon light seems to repeat itself as they pass through states. It’s enough to give her a headache, the repetitiveness of it all.

 

Pete stands in front of the bus, smoking a cigarette and making faces at her phone. Her service is on the fritz again. Even if she wanted to text Gee for help about the whole Trick situation, she can’t. Besides, My Chem’s got a show tonight, and Gee’s not one to bring her phone onstage. Pete sighs. There are only so many fixable things. 

 

The only thing her tour manager’s letting her do is enter the miniscule convenience store across from the gas pumps, so that’s what she does. Anything else would probably cause her to be left behind and yelled at. She grinds her cigarette on the ground right outside the doors and heads inside, the bell tinkling above her head.

 

She goes and stands by the milk cases, for some ungodly reason. Pete doesn’t even like milk- it’s too thick, and frankly kind of disgusting when consumed on its own. In coffee it’s a blessing, but every other time? Disgusting.

 

The bell above the door chimes again, and Pete doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Trick. She keeps her gaze directly on the 2% milk in front of her and tries to ignore Trick’s movements through the store. The convenience store's [playing something](https://gleemer.bandcamp.com/track/shoulder-pads) vaguely melancholy over the speakers, and Pete focuses on that instead.

 

After what seems like an eternity, another body sidles up next to her. Pete focuses on the fine print below the horrible cow label on the milk carton. Beside her, Trick takes a deep breath, then speaks.

 

“So, tell me if I’m reading this wrong, but do you actually like me? I mean I thought, with the poem, but it’s fucking hard to tell with you sometimes.”

 

Pete didn’t expect her confession to occur in front of a glowing case full of lactose products, but she supposes now is as good a time as any. “Yeah. I do. A lot, actually.”

 

She sneaks a glance over at Trick, who opens her mouth like she’s about to say something more. Unfortunately, that’s when their tour manager walks into the store.

 

“Get your asses out here, both of you. It’s time to hit the road again.” She doesn’t exactly bark the instruction, but it’s close enough. Trick brushes past Pete and is out the door before Pete can get there, blonde hair swinging slightly below her ears.

 

“Shit,” Pete says, and follows her out. Trick’s probably pissed at her even more than she already was.

 

+

 

Gee’s in the middle of a damn song when she figures it out. She’s belting out the lyrics to Cemetery Drive when Frankie moves closer to her, completely engrossed in the song. She’s hitting every chord on time, hand flying over the strings, and Gee is engrossed in how attractive she looks for just a moment. She’s still singing when Frankie suddenly gets close enough to yell, “Nice ass!” at her. This proclamation is closely followed by, “You look really fucking hot today.”

 

Gee’s been to enough dive bars with Frankie to know how she picks up chicks, and that last line is suspiciously close to what Frankie uses as flirting material. She recalls the random beverages, and that night in her bunk, and suddenly something clicks. But just as Gee finally gets it, Frankie’s already on the other side of the stage, harassing Mikey about something.

 

She keeps singing the lyrics for all she’s worth. She’ll confront Frankie after the show, but right now what really matters is the music.


End file.
